The End Page 3
“It matters a whole goddamn lot,” Stina roars, slamming her palm down on the sofa’s arm.
Dust whirls into the air, shimmering in the light coming through the window.
“Why?” I say. “It’s not like I have a future to ruin.”
“You know all about how dangerous the city is nowadays.”
“I’m being careful.”
Stina’s face goes red. “You could try empathizing with us,” she says. “You know we moved back in together because we wanted to see you as much as possible in the days we have left. Now we’re seeing less of you than ever.”
“I didn’t ask you to move back in together for me.”
I regret it as soon as the words cross my lips. Because I get them. But they don’t get me.
They don’t get that I really do miss them, but I can’t stand it here, in this artificial atmosphere they’ve created. We can’t have normal conversations anymore, because everything has to be so profound. We have to savor every memory, ask earnest questions, say important things before we die. Every word has to convey so much. Too much. What they’re asking of me is impossible.
“Enough,” Stina says in an unexpectedly calm voice. “Emma’s coming in a few days.”
Emma. My sister, who hasn’t been thinking straight since she found out about the comet.
“Micke is visiting his parents in Överkalix,” Stina continues. “She needs all the help she can get now. And she needs peace and quiet.”
I nod, then look away. My eyes are drawn to the dark gray kitchen wall I helped paint. I remember just standing and looking at it one day. It was a few days after we’d heard about the comet. The wall still smelled faintly of paint, and I remember thinking, How pointless that we painted it when it’s going to disappear. It was the first time I really grasped what was happening.
I started crying then, and I start crying now.
“It’s going to be fine,” Stina says gently.
“How?” I say, wiping at my eyes.
She looks disappointed. I always disappoint them these days.
“I only mean that Emma coming home for a while will be good for us. We have to cherish the time we have left.”
“That means you, too, Simon,” Judette adds.
NAME: LUCINDA
TELLUS #0392811002
POST 0002
There were riots in Gothenburg last night. It started out as a spontaneous demonstration against the rationing system—a few thousand people thought “real Swedes” ought to get more than “the others.” The prime minister made a statement. Once again, she tried reminding us that Sweden is fortunate. It’s summer, so we have plenty of fruit and vegetables, and we have enough cattle to last us for years. “But it’s still unfair,” one of the demonstrators complained in the television studio. “I’ve paid my taxes my whole life. I should get more than them.” She means people who weren’t born here. I want to scream at her that it’s thanks to “the others” that our society is functioning as well as it is. Since we stopped using money, “the others” are overrepresented among the volunteers. They transport people with trains and food with trucks, make sure we have water in the taps and electricity in the wires. Not because “the others” are saintlier, but because their loved ones aren’t here. Of course they’re trying to create some sense of community rather than just sitting around alone, waiting for the end.
If you were able to look at our planet from space right now, you wouldn’t see any countries. The borders were never real; they’re only lines we drew on a map. Yet some people have built their entire identity on which side of said line they ended up on. I thought it would matter less now, but it seems to have gone the other way for a lot of people. Not for everyone; the ones who care just happen to be the loudest of the bunch. (And complete idiots. A lot of the time, those things go hand in hand.)
Maybe this is a good time to point out that people can be wonderful. I’ll probably forget to mention it often enough. If nothing else, I should get better at reminding myself of that. Catastrophes tend to bring out the best or the worst in us. And the vast majority are just trying to live their lives as best they can.
So what have I done with my life since you last heard from me? What have I done to grow as a person? What have I done to help others? I’ve mostly slept. And looked at pictures of my old friends.
Apparently, they threw a party at the pool tonight. They look so much younger in the photos than how I feel. Their eyes shine in their sweaty, tanned faces. Plastic bottles and cigarette butts float in the water. People I thought would never smoke pose with cigarettes dangling from their mouths. And why not? It’s not like anyone’s going to have time to develop cancer.
Tilda is in all the pictures. She still has the same broad shoulders and strong arms. The lean muscles on her back are clearly visible beneath her skin. It’s difficult to believe that I was ever as fit as she is. Body aside, though, Tilda’s changed. The Tilda I knew had barely had a drink in her entire life, and certainly never smoked. We never went to parties because, even during the weekends, we were getting up early to swim. Dad told me Tilda’s parents separated this summer. I wasn’t surprised to hear it; they’ve been unhappy for a while. But I don’t know how Tilda feels about it. I don’t know anything about her life anymore, other than what I see in the photos.
She was my best friend. She’s in all my most important memories. I can’t tell you who I am without also telling you about Tilda.
We were in that pool so much that I can describe every little crack in the floor, every hole in the ceiling above our heads. The chlorine made our eyes burn. It ate away at our swimsuits and our skin. The scent of it was everywhere. Seven, eight, nine practices a week, plus at least one competition. It was usually mind-numbingly boring and monotonous. And yet, I loved it. I lived for the small moments of bliss. The adrenaline kicking in right before a race. The few moments during practice when my body’s movements and my breathing were perfectly in sync. I felt more at home in the water than on land. Enveloped. Easy. Free. It was magical.
The pool was our place—Tilda’s and mine. Without her, I would never have started swimming, and I definitely wouldn’t have applied to a high school known for its champion swim team. She made me better. Our coach, Tommy, always said that we only compete against ourselves, but that didn’t stop me from competing against Tilda. It didn’t matter that I’d never be as good as her. No one could be. Elin, Amanda, and I fought for a decent second place. Tilda had what Tommy called a “winner’s mentality.” She had a whole plan laid out, from the Swedish Youth Swimming Championship to the national team to the Olympics. It was unrealistic. The chance of her succeeding was tiny. The chance of securing enough sponsorship to make a living was even smaller. And yet, I never doubted for a second that she’d pull it off.
Why am I even telling you this? Do you know what a competition is? A pool? I’m assuming you have water.
I can see the roof of Tilda’s house from my window. We used to cut through our backyards when we were little and wanted to play.
I saw her in real life about a week ago. It was early in the morning, and I’d decided to head downtown for the first time in a long time. I thought I wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew at that hour, but as I got closer, I heard a pounding bassline and shouting.
A group of girls stumbled along, arm in arm, singing “Save the World” by Swedish House Mafia.
Tilda was sitting in an open window, kissing some boy I’d never seen before. Her hair, which I’d envied even when I still had my own, glowed almost red in the morning sun. Her makeup was perfect, and I wondered where she’d learned how to do it. We hardly ever wore makeup.
Elin and Amanda were there, too. I escaped before anyone could see me.
What does seventeen years mean to you? Is it young or old? Can you imagine being young and already feeling old? Kind of used up? Can you understand what I mean when I say that I’ve been hiding for so long, I don’t know how to make
my way back?
SIMON
The movie starts with an asteroid slamming into Earth and killing all the dinosaurs. A sea of fire engulfs the planet. The narrator informs us that it’s going to happen again; it’s just a matter of time.
No one says anything. Apart from the bombastic music, the only sound in the room is crunching from Hampus, who’s lying on the floor in front of the television eating chips with his mouth open. His T-shirt has slipped up, revealing a stomach that’s grown slightly pudgier this summer. Before, he and Sait went to the gym every day. All they talked about was protein shakes and shredding.
Sait, who still has his six-pack. Sait, who kissed Tilda’s neck. Sait, who thankfully isn’t here. But neither is Tilda. Maybe they’re together right now.
We’re at Hampus’s house watching Armageddon, one of the movies they tried removing from the internet.
We see New York now. Sixty-five million years later. The first rocks fall from the sky like bombs, destroying skyscrapers. Hampus says it’s the pre-cum. No one laughs. I do what I did when I was little and my sister Emma made me watch horror movies while she babysat me: I stare at the screen until I no longer see images, only shifting colors and shapes. The sounds are the worst. More difficult to shut out without people noticing.
But then the movie gets going, and we laugh as the main character shoots at his daughter’s boyfriend, who’s dodging around the explosives on the oil platform where they work.
“Nice incest vibe I’m getting from that guy,” Johannes says.
“Yeah, he seems obsessed with her sex life,” Amanda adds. “She’s a grown fucking woman.”
I breathe a little more easily. Sink deeper into the armchair. No one could possibly take this seriously.
It turns out the oil workers are going to be trained as astronauts in record time. Then they’re being sent into space to drill a hole into the asteroid and blow it up. They only get one shot at it.
“Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to just train real astronauts to drill holes?” I say.
The others laugh. Do they feel as relieved as I do? I think so.
I can’t believe people talked about this movie as some blueprint to follow at the beginning of the summer. They said we should send up nukes. But Foxworth is too large and already too close. All the nuclear warheads in the world wouldn’t have been enough.
“Did he just put crackers in her underwear?” Amanda says.
“I think so,” Johannes says, and laughs.
He pulls her closer on the sofa. I feel a pang of envy. Johannes still has a girlfriend. He belongs here unquestionably. It was through Tilda and Amanda that everyone in this room got to know one another. Every time we hang out sober, I find myself wondering if they really want me there, now that Tilda and I are finished. I don’t even hang out alone with Johannes anymore, even though he’s my best friend. Sometimes, I get the feeling he’s avoiding me.
Maybe I’m so unbearable nobody wants me around anymore.
“Has everyone forgotten about New York being utterly obliterated?” Ali asks, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
“Good thing they’re getting drunk in a strip club before heading out to save the world,” Elin says. “Great priorities. Kudos, heroes.”
“Why did they bring machine guns into space?” asks Johannes.
“Does this girl do anything other than cry about her dad and her boyfriend?” says Amanda.
And then we start commenting on everything, laugh as the disgusting dad delivers a blubbering speech to his daughter before sacrificing himself. But we fall silent when the asteroid is destroyed. The people of Earth celebrate.
It’s the happy ending we’re never going to get.
“Good thing she got married so someone can take care of her,” Amanda says as the credits roll across a montage of wedding pictures.
“Cool how every person who wasn’t white was such a stereotype.”
Elin looks at me when she says it. I don’t respond. At the moment, I don’t have it in me to affirm her wokeness or to care about racist shit in a movie older than me. I have other things to worry about.
“Has anyone talked to Tilda today?” Elin continues.
I glance at the others.
“She was going to have dinner with her dad and her uncle,” Amanda says. “She wanted a quiet night in.”
“That’d be a first,” says Hampus, licking grease off his fingers.
Amanda starts braiding her hair. She goes slightly cross-eyed looking at it.
“I don’t know what the hell Tilda’s doing.”
“Where does she even get that shit?” Ali says.
“I don’t know.”
“Wonder how she pays for it,” Hampus says with a grin I would love to kick off his face.
The room goes quiet. Ali stares intently at his phone. Hampus starts eating chips with great concentration. Only Johannes meets my eyes. He shakes his head slightly.
It hits me that they probably talk about Tilda in a different way when I’m not around. “The question is how quiet it will be with Klas and his brother,” Elin says.
She throws Amanda a meaningful look. Something I can’t quite interpret passes between them. Johannes notices it, too.
“What?” he says, and I’m glad I don’t have to ask them.
“Tilda didn’t want us to say anything,” Amanda says.
She and Elin exchange another look. It’s obvious that they want to spill.
“Come on!” Hampus says.
Elin sighs. Crosses her legs and fingers the gold four-leaf clover in her earlobe.
“Klas has joined the Truthers,” she says.
“That’s why Caroline threw him out,” Amanda says quickly, as though she’s afraid someone else will get to share the nugget of gossip first.
“But . . . how did he end up there?” is all I can manage.
I try to imagine Klas in the True Church of Sweden. It’s impossible. The closest I’ve seen him get to religion was his obsession with Game of Thrones.
“His brother recruited him,” Elin says.
It still doesn’t make sense. Tilda’s uncle and his family moved here from Örebro this summer. I’ve only met them a handful of times. Klas’s brother may be an idiot, but not the kind of idiot who’d join the Truthers.
On the other hand, who is the type?
Given how quickly the splinter group broke away from the Church of Sweden, Stina says it must have been a long time coming. A popular priest down in the south started preaching about the Christianity of old, based on a God who puts humanity through inhuman trials. A God who doesn’t care for the Church of Sweden’s “liberal, politically correct nonsense.” The priest was fired, became a local martyr, and what started as a small group on social media has become a network of congregations all over the country. Some of the True Church’s congregants made the mistake of knocking on our door to recruit members, but they’re probably not coming back. They hadn’t counted on being invited in for a cup of coffee by a lesbian priest from the Church of Sweden who never tires of spirited discussion. Has Klas been knocking on doors this summer, too?
Suddenly, it becomes clear how much the distance between Tilda and me has grown if I didn’t even know about this.
“I find the True Church so creepy,” Amanda says. “They seem so . . .” She waves her hands around as if that’ll help catch the word she’s looking for.
“Evangelical?” Johannes suggests.
“Exactly!”
“What if they turn into one of those American sects that kill people for blood sacrifices?” Hampus says.
“Those weren’t sects. They were just random psychos,” Amanda replies.
“People always say that about Christians,” Elin says, looking at Ali. “If they’d been Muslim . . .”
Ali shoots me a weary look.
“It makes sense that people believe God wants blood sacrifices,” Johannes says. “He likes that kind of thing, doesn’t he? Even his own son had to die on
the cross for our sins.”
“Well, look at you, all knowledgeable,” Amanda says, glancing up at him.
“Simon’s mom confirmed me.” Johannes smirks at me. “But seriously, I bet some cults get up to things we never even get to hear about.”
“Did you hear about the Bride of the True Church in Karlshamn?” Hampus says. “The Bible says you can’t have tattoos, so she cut them off with a box cutter.”
“Stop!” Amanda moans.
“She peeled off half her arm,” Hampus goes on.
Amanda looks like she’s about to throw up.
Elin says, “That was a hoax.”
“Remember the Old Norse worshippers in Dalarna?” Ali starts. “On Midsummer’s Eve, they sacrificed all those animals that—”
“Can we talk about something else?” Amanda says, cutting him off.
“I read about a Japanese cult.” Hampus drags himself into a sitting position. “They sacrificed their children. They used knives this size. They ripped them up from here to—”
“Please!” Amanda screams.
Hampus laughs so hard bits of chips spray across his shirt. “I’m just saying, people do crazy shit, and no one’s as crazy as religious people. No offense, Simon.”
I shrug.
“Christians are still the worst,” Elin says. “Just look at all the people in the U.S. Congress who are just like the Truthers and claim that this is the punishment for abortions and gay sex.”
“It’d be a bit of an overreaction if God wiped us all out just because some guys want to suck dick,” Hampus says.
“Or think about the movie we just saw,” Elin continues. “Talk about honor-based violence, with that dad and everyone he worked with . . .”
Hampus sighs loudly. Amanda throws a sofa cushion at him.
Elin ignores them, leaning closer to Ali. “What does Islam say about what’s happening?”
“No idea,” he says, and shoots me another look. “But my family will be out tomorrow. Party at my place before the soccer game?”
Without hesitating, we all say yes.